


The Ghastly Legend of Gazrim Gulch (or, Lurtz's New Cows)

by Hobbitrocious



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Lord of the Rings (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Western, Bondage, Captivity, Cattle ranching, Comedy, Cowboy Orcs, Crack Crossover, Degradation, Dehumanisation, Extremely Dubious Consent, Forced Breeding, Gift Work, M/M, Multi, Navel Play, Nipple Play, Other, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rare Pairings, Sexual Slavery, Slash, Song Parody, Whump, body piercings, implied genderbending, mentions of mpreg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-23
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-28 13:10:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6330544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hobbitrocious/pseuds/Hobbitrocious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lurtz (yes, Lurtz) forces Thorin and someone else to... breed. High comedy, gritty angst, and plenty of spoofage to offend anyone who is genuinely fond of old Westerns. Very AU crossover between LotR and The Hobbit, any and all timelines shot to hell. </p><p>Multiple pairings. Read all tags/warnings or forever hold yer peace.</p><p>Unfinished for now, so tags and pairings may be added in future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TactheJoker](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TactheJoker/gifts).



> This is absolute crack laced with some highly personalised porn tailored in specifically for a good friend, stemming from one of many hilarious fandom discussions with said friend. 
> 
> Basically, the prompt arose from envisioning Lurtz riding off into the sunset on a warg. All hell broke loose from there.
> 
> I found it far easier to write than I expected, so maybe I should get my head checked. Like, this crack blows all previous crack out of the water and yet somehow, at least to my own warped mind, also managed to turn into an endearing comedic masterpiece among my stories. Thinking up names for random Orcs was fun too.
> 
> You have no idea how much sniggering and evil cackling was part of the writing process.
> 
> Tac, I love how our holiday gifts keep becoming increasingly inappropriate for Christmas with every year that passes. (And I'm sorry it wasn't finished in time for Christmas!)
> 
> I REGRET NOTHING.

By the early morning light, Lurtz sat at the rough-hewn, rickety little table inside the cosy, if dusty, quarters he called home. The wooden stool creaked under his thick, cowhide-clad legs as he reached for his favourite goblin-skull mug and drank his brief breakfast of bog slug's blood with a light sprinkling of nutmeg.

While he sipped, Lurtz reread the Deed of Sale he acquired the day before. It detailed a small herd purchase. Said herd had just spent their first night in the newly constructed pen outside. Lurtz couldn't wait to go outside and check on the creatures; as his very first venture in Dwarf ranching, this was quite exciting.

His slug blood finished, he stood and shrugged on his second-best leather vest. He smoothed it down over his bare chest and relished the hint of friction on his dark nipples.

Then he donned his pride and joy - a crisp, white ten gallon hat, so well-kept the material practically glowed - and stepped outside.

He walked across the front yard, a stretch of half dust and half sweet, green grazing grass. Hooking his fingers in his belt loops, Lurtz leaned slightly over the circular split rail fence and peered into the quarter-acre pit enclosure.

Fifteen feet below him, most of the Dwarves were awake. Four or five prowled nervously while some of the less hearty ones sat together in a cluster by the wall. The biggest one, the one that Lurtz agreed to take at a hefty discount since it wouldn't be good for much work and would probably go straight to the dinner table, looked for all accounts stone dead, except that it made horrendous snoring noises. The rest of the herd gave this one a wide berth while it slept.

Looking out over his herd, Lurtz began to second guess whether this had been a wise purchase. Maybe he should have haggled more aggressively. He'd noticed a couple injuries and elders among the group, but in his excitement perhaps hadn't demanded a low enough price. A couple of them looked like they might wind up costing more in upkeep than was justifiable.

Well, Lurtz would just have to wait and see.

He grinned a wide, toothy, menacing grin when he saw one of his ranch-hands approach from the woodpile.

"Grimpub!" Lurtz greeted him, beckoning him closer, "You have perfect timing. The Dwarves are in need of their morning feeding."

Grimpub cackled and stood before Lurtz to learn what manner of unfortunate critter he should be sent to fetch for the herd to tear to pieces. He quite looked forward to the spectacle.

Efficiently as you please, Lurtz grabbed Grimpub's neck in a crushing grip and chucked him over the split-rail fence.

* * *

Thorin and Dwalin braced each other when the Orc landed heavily right at their feet. Without their weapons, they and the others beside them immediately leaned over the Orc with nothing more than poised and ready fists.

They waited, but the Orc did not move. Dwalin peered closer, then toed the Orc's head with his boot and gave a disgusted tut.

"Its neck is broken," Dwalin concluded.

The others breathed a sigh of relief. Thorin cast his eyes up to the direction the monster came from and spotted the smug Uruk-hai from yesterday resting his meaty forearms on the fence.

Lurtz chewed lazily on a reed of straw while he watched. He thought the Dwarves would be hungrier, but they weren't tearing in yet. With a pang of worry, Lurtz realised he'd neglected to ask the dealer whether these Dwarves were meat-eating creatures. Perhaps they had been bred to graze instead.

Grimpub groaned, unable to so much as twitch a finger at the surrounding Dwarves. Balin, moving on a reflex none of the others guessed he still possessed at his age, kicked his lights out.

* * *

Since none of the Dwarves would so much as sniff at their proffered morning grub, an hour later saw them hauled out of the pit and chained around the neck. The entire herd stood out in Lurtz's pastures, each individual chained to a different stake in the ground, spaced so none would bother its neighbours.

Lurtz circled the pasture a half dozen times on his warg, scratching his ten gallon hat over the puzzling behaviour of his Dwarves. They didn't seem interested in the sweet grass either; not even the fat one. They all looked rather dour, though the dealer had assured Lurtz that was more or less their default temperament.

All the same, Lurtz began to suspect these were signs that the herd wasn't settling in well.

He turned his warg around, deciding he would pull some hay from the barn and give that a try. It was pretty much his last resort. The hay might make the Dwarves thirsty, so Lurtz also planned to lead them to the watering trough before he penned them back in for the day.

The hay didn't go over well. A couple of the Dwarves sat on it, but only one made an attempt to eat. The one that had been branded by a previous Orcish owner by way of axing took only a brief taste before dropping to the ground in despair and making strange, possibly distressed, noises to itself.

The water got the herd's interest better than anything else, and Lurtz was able to observe their queer habit of washing the pasture dust from their arms and face after they drank. Lurtz was under the mistaken impression that Dwarves were like wargs or mountain lions in the sense that they bathed themselves with their tongues.

Well, live and learn. He would try setting out two separate troughs tomorrow. The younger ones didn't seem to enjoy drinking any more water once it was murky with their pasture dirt.

By the end of the day, the water was all any of them had taken. There had been an infinite number of covetous looks from the herd directed at Lurtz's lunch (a delicious pastrami and swiss on rye), but Lurtz wasn't about to sink so low as to toss his own food to these finicky critters.

Lurtz finally had to wonder if he'd been remiss in not right away purchasing a stud to go with the herd. Figuring it couldn't hurt to introduce one, he made arrangements with his remaining ranch-hands so that he could set out for the Gazrim Gulch livestock market first thing in the morning.

Perhaps once he started breeding them, they'd perk up.

* * *

At the market the next day, Lurtz managed - through sheer intimidation - to track down the same Orcish dwarf-trader who sold him his herd. It was quite the stroke of luck that this particular trader was still hanging about Gazrim Gulch, as Lurtz had cleaned out the Orc's entire current stock of Dwarves.

Yelling over the grunts and growls of the crowded marketplace, Lurtz explained the herd's lethargy and asked advice on his decision to breed them so soon after bringing them home.

"Well," the dealer said, licking his teeth and gnashing at the air for emphatic punctuation, "I think you've got yourself the right idea, wot, with reckoning on breedin' 'em. Sounds to me like you've already tried every food they'll touch, so's it must be somethin' else that's got the maggots acting so glum. Pref'rence for meat or plant might not be the same for every member of a herd, so's you haven't been doing nothin' wrong, see?"

The Orc beckoned Lurtz a ways further into the grimy alley he called a shoppe. The Orc pulled himself up to full height and gave Lurtz the full sales pitch, boasting,

"Now; it's a good thing, it is, that you've come back to me on tha' matter, because I deal in breedin' specialties myself. Got some prize breeders like the other dealers wish they 'ad, which is one reason I keep 'em back 'ere. Protecting my best wares, y'see?" He strode to one of the canvas-covered cages and slapped it. "In 'ere I've one the boys just brung me yester-mornin'. They caught him by chance as they was slipping by Gondor, and a right blessed chance it was. He's good fer work if you've the mind to set him to it, and, by my own professional reckoning, he's the most promisin' breeder my outfit's ever handled. He's guaranteed compatible with Dwarf-kind. This one should have your females bucking up in no time."

"Let's have a look at him," Lurtz nodded, prompting the Orc to obligingly whisk away the canvas tarp.

The cowering Gondorian inside the cage was naked, unlike the Dwarves had been, to showcase his vigour as a breeding specimen. Although as dirt-encrusted as everything else in Gazrim Gulch, the stud's body looked as solid and capable as advertised.

Lurtz growled in approval, then asked the burning question that, in hindsight, he probably should have asked two days prior. "How do I tell which are the female Dwarves?"

Trying to hide his nervousness around the enormous Uruk in the face of a question for which there was no straight answer, the dealer cleared his throat before tactfully telling Lurtz, "Well, that's the funny thing about Dwarvish kind, you see. The females look just like the males. They both grow beards and all, and there's not often much difference in height neither. Completely identical anatomy, _except_ -" the Orc motioned with one dirty finger for Lurtz to lean close to hear the secret, "- sometimes you can make an educated guess by picking out the daintier ones. It's not foolproof, but works well enough. Separate out your prettier-lookin' ones, if you care to call 'em that, then try them out with this prize-winner here, and see which of the lot takes to him. Those'll be your females, right sure."

Lurtz, being perhaps not the savviest of buyers, took the Orc on his word and didn't bother insisting on a more thorough examination of the specimen before sealing the deal and loading the cage into his warg cart. Lurtz was satisfied to take this purchase home and inspect it at his leisure when he got there; right now, he was anxious to get it home and check on his herd. If there were any concealed problems with the stud, Lurtz could always return to Gazrim and pop the dealer's head off at a later date.

* * *

The shift of the cage into a cart, rolling down open dirt road in full sun, was such a shock after weeks of being transported and stored in relative dark that the stud's eyes pained him even beneath the tarp.

Half-blinded by the brief removal of the canvas back in the alley, Boromir hadn't even gotten a glimpse of the fiend whose cart he now rode. But the chap must certainly have been a fiend, to do dealings with Orcs, and kidnapper Orcs at that.

Boromir's eyes gradually adjusted to the ambient brightness, but there was no chink in the tarp to see out from and thus no way to discern where he was being taken. He hadn't a clue what foul town he was being taken from in the first place, nor how far he was from Minas Tirith.

Just when the Orcish raids across the Anduin were nearly under control, such ironic bad luck was his that he fell prey to them right when a manageable peace was in sight.

As there was nothing he could do to free himself yet, cramped and weak and exhausted as he was, Boromir set aside his fear as best he could and succumbed to much needed sleep for the remainder of the lullingly rhythmic ride.

He would reserve his strength, and should his end come at his captor's destination, he would go out with such glory as he could muster as a son of Gondor.

* * *

When Lurtz pulled into the ranch, he was surprised and appalled at the ruckus emanating from the Dwarves' pit. He leapt from the cart almost before it came to a halt and raced to the rail of the enclosure, all to find the entire herd bleating in an emphatic cacophony of Khuzdul and Westron at the frankly pissed-off looking ranch-hand overlooking them.

Shnack-shnisch waved greeting to Lurtz from across the pit and circled the fence towards him.

Standing before the ranch master, Shnack-shnisch dug his earplugs out of his ears and jammed them into his spear pouch. He complained loudly over the continuing noise, "Them rats hasn't shut up for the last two hours, sir! Bloody insane they're drivin' me! We don't know wot's wrong with 'em! We tried giving the blighters hay, but they went and started throwing the business they done this morning at us, if you take me meaning!"

Indeed, there was a small pile of Dwarf dung collected near the far side of the pit. Lurtz would need to remind _all_ of his ranch-hands that the livestock's leavings were to be moved directly to the compost, not left to sit and bake all willy-nilly across the ranch.

Lurtz growled deep in his chest and told Shnack-shnisch confidently, "They won't be bleating too much longer. I've brought a treat for them."

Lurtz had Shnack-shnisch fetch another Orc, then advised the two with his newly acquired knowledge vis-à-vis segregating his female Dwarves.

He left the ranch-hands to that task while he himself prepared to take a closer look at the new stud and install him in the stables.

* * *

There had been five Orcs.

Boromir knew he was no match for five, not without his sword. And not in this state, starved for at least a fortnight and aching sharply in every muscle for want of enough space to simply stand.

Standing upright was torture for the first few minutes, but he was acclimating to the pervading burn.

The Orcs managed to chain him in place with relative ease. After they'd left him secured in this stall, the roomiest one at the back, Boromir finally dared to sink to his knees and obey the silent cries of his body. From kneeling position, he gingerly inched lower until he fell to the floor altogether. He stretched out as far as his cramps would allow, finally able to achieve a more natural semblance of rest. Despite the hard, cold, uncomfortable shackles and chains, he found himself giving thanks for being removed from the horrid, tight cage at long last.

As Boromir hadn't enough slack to leave the stall, his handlers didn't bother to shut the gate. From the floor, Boromir could see straight down the middle of the stables and out to the sunny field beyond the open doors.

The searing sunlight wavered in Boromir's returning vision. An amorphous shadow stood in the doorway.

In one heart-stopping, horrible moment, Boromir's sight came into perfect focus and the shadow was unmistakably defined.

Gasping in irregular, panicked breaths, Boromir watched agog as the largest Uruk-hai he had ever seen in his life stalked into the stable on glinting spurred boots; tromped slowly down the central walk, heading straight for him.

Boromir could only pray the beast would make his end quick.

* * *

Balin, Thorin, Kíli, Fíli, Nori, and Oin sat in a small holding pit, occasionally whispering to one another and trying to figure out why they'd been separated from the rest of their company.

Nori ranted and fussed, Thorin discussed escape strategies with Balin, Fíli and Kíli paced restlessly while half listening, Balin grumped at the brothers to cease pacing and save their strength, and Oin ignored them all.

Standard procedure for removing the Dwarves from any of the holding pits involved sharp and pointy encouragement to coax one at a time to grab hold of a long-handled iron hook - or two hooks, for the heftier Dwarves, or seven specifically for Bombur - so they could be pulled out. Being removed one by one effectively prevented any opportunity to gang up on their Orcish handlers, thus the Dwarves found themselves with no choice but to submit to the well-armed cretins.

Balin mused fruitlessly, "If they hadn't those fences around the top, we might well be able to pull one of them in. But that won't be of much use with us still down here and twenty more of those foul Orcs guarding from up there."

Thorin sighed. "We'd need someone to escape when they're brought out. Even if we could dispatch the Orcs from down here, we need someone on the surface to pull us up."

"Aye. But I don't think it would escape their notice if one of our number went missing. They don't give us a chance to slip out of their sight, either. There are too many of them, they make sure of that."

"Ori's still out there somewhere," Nori reminded them fretfully. "They didn't get him with the rest of us. But who knows if they found him later on... Oh!"

Balin grimaced sympathetically and watched Nori weep into an already sodden embroidered handkerchief.

"If fate be in our favour, Ori will have taken advantage of that and gone to find us help before the Orcs noticed him. The lad's smart enough not to have come after us." To Thorin, Balin quietly added, "... I hope."

The scuff of crudely made boots in the dusty ground above their heads caught the Dwarves' attention.

A pair of Orcs peeked over the rail and conversed in Westron, a stimulating change for the Dwarves from the ugly Black Speech they'd had to listen to since being snatched off the road.

"You sure the one wif the pigtails don't belong in 'ere?"

"Dunno, but I'm not lifting another bleedin' Dwarf today. My back won't take it."

"Lurtz might come fer you if he think you ain't done the job right, you reckon?" the first Orc menaced his companion with a bloodthirsty leer.

The other Orc was slightly more shrewd and easily countered the cheap attempt at intimidation, "I reckon Lurtz would more likely take your legs off for puttin' those two old sows in with the better ones. Them's useless, look at 'em."

"Well, s'not like he told us don't include 'em if they're old." The bloodthirstier lug protested, nervously scratching his toe into the dust.

His companion poked him roughly in the chest. "Right; so you don't get on me for not puttin' in more of 'em, and I don't get on your sorry hide for puttin' in ones that shouldn't a' been put in."

"HERE!" came from the pit. "WHO ARE YOU CALLING SOWS?!"

" _Kíli!_ " Fíli hissed, grabbing his brother's shoulder.

"Sit down, lads!" Balin hissed at both of them from the powwow line along the wall.

"Falling plows?" Oin echoed in worry, scanning the sky. "Where?"

Annoyed with the noisy animals, the Orcs scowled down into the pit before turning their backs and strolling away.

Nori, having an epiphany at that moment, grabbed Throin's shoulder and whispered intensely, "Those hooks! What if we got ahold of one and used it to carve footholds in the walls?"

"If you can figure out a way to take one without them noticing." Thorin pointed out, "They'd likely skewer us if they caught us trying anything."

Balin supplied, "Maybe they'll slip up. All we need is for one Orc to try hooking us up while it's alone."

"We can't see out of this pit!" Fíli protested. "If we see only one Orc, how can we know there aren't fifty more standing behind?"

Balin shrugged tiredly. "Just be ready for the opportunity should it arise, I suppose. If one of us reaches the top and discovers he's alone with only an Orc or two, he can take them and help the rest of us escape."

"That's the best plan so far," Thorin encouraged them. "Let us hope such an opportunity arises."

"Why not carve a way up with our bare hands? We could work through the night!" Kíli suggested enthusiastically.

Balin shook his head. "I don't think so, laddie. Even if we had a tool, it would take longer than a night to carve deep enough to support a person's weight. This isn't the rock of the grey mountains. This isn't even river clay. A single night's work would crumble in this pebble dust, and we'd be right back where we started."

Kíli finally sat down, looking depressed. Fíli sat too.

Nori chipped in, "They probably split us up so we wouldn't try standing on one another's shoulders again. Probably got sick of watching us every minute of the day."

The others silently agreed. They'd nearly made that work, except the Orcs had noticed and jabbed at them with pikes until all but Bofur and Bombur, the two bottommost, tumbled back down.

"Fíli, you're sure you haven't got any of your knives left?" Thorin asked.

"None, Uncle," Fíli patiently reiterated. "They were all taken by the time we entered the Orc town."

This wasn't the first time Thorin asked that particular question over the past few days, but he was reduced to grasping at straws.

The little group sat huddled together for a long time, helpless to do anything but ponder their fate.

At length, Oin farted.

The rest of the little group shifted and pondered on the other side of the pit.

* * *

Lurtz's hand felt enormous and hot between Boromir's legs, tugging here and probing there.

Lurtz considered performing a full examination of the new stud, but settled on sticking to the most basic requirements. As long as its breeding apparatus was in order, Lurtz had gotten what he paid for.

The Uruk-hai lit a lantern in the rear stall, closed and locked the stable doors, and shucked his chaps and trousers.

Boromir bucked in fear beneath him when Lurtz straddled the chained man and pressed their bodies together. Boromir's penis was by no means small, but it was only half the size of Lurtz's monstrous, throbbing piece.

It was a sight so fearsome that Boromir could not find the voice to protest or plead mercy. The only sound he made was that which Lurtz's movements pressed from his lungs.

In the still of the dark stable, their grunting and gasping and the jangle of Boromir's chains were all to be heard as Lurtz rutted both their cocks into his brawny fist.

In minutes it was all over, and Boromir was left lying in the straw alone, his spent cock twitching in a mess of come and Lurtz's spit.

Lurtz hummed a jaunty tune to himself as he re-dressed and left the stables.

* * *

 _Home, home on the range_  
_Where the Dwarves and the west Men-folk play_  
 _Where seldom is heard_  
 _A non-Black-Speech word_  
 _And the Orcs complain loudly all dayyyyyyy_

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

The next morning, the Dwarves in the smaller pit were surprised by Bofur sliding down the side to join them.

"Ach, so this is where you lot got to!" he quipped.

The others leapt to their feet and crowded around. They threw dirty glances at the Orc loitering overhead until it shrank from view.

Thorin was quick to ask Bofur the questions on all their minds: what of the other half of the company, what did he see on the surface, how dense was the guard when he was moved.

"There were at least half a dozen," Bofur reported. "They had me hands tied, too, until they threw me in."

"You lost your hat?" Kíli observed.

Bombur looked up and passed a hand over where his hat should have been. "Oh. No, Bombur ate it along with our gloves. You know how he gets in the middle of the night. The blighters still haven't fed us properly! Threw us some oats at dawn, but they weren't even cooked."

"I hope you took advantage of that." Thorin groused, "They gave us nothing."

Just then, a wineskin clocked Nori in the head.

"D'OW!"

Another half dozen wineskins rained down on the group, who were elated to find them full of clean drinking water.

"Save some," Thorin advised as they guzzled thirstily. "No telling when we'll be given more."

A thin, warbling cackle came from overhead and a scrawny Orc with a multitude of facial piercings leaned over the rail.

"Naw," the Orc giggled maliciously, "you lot's gettin' a meal in a minute or two, an' then you'se bein' moved. Drink up or leave it for the worms!"

The Dwarves said nothing to the Orc, but reluctantly obeyed.

True to the Orc's word, they soon saw threadbare bags tumbling down the sides of the pit, and found them filled with just enough cooked meat and bread for each of them to make a small meal of. Both tasted a bit stale, but the Dwarves were in no position to complain.

Twenty minutes later saw them being hauled out of the pit one at a time and marched to a long, low building behind the main house.

Each of the seven Dwarves was led to his own pen inside the stables, where he was stripped naked by a gang of hooting, whistling Orcs and chained to the wall with a heavy iron collar.

All except for Oin, whose lingering garlicky odour the Orcs found offensive. They left his clothes on. In deference to their age, Oin and Balin were each given an extra horse blanket, whereas the others each received only one.

Though Thorin and Balin urged the others not to give in to panic, it wasn't long before Fíli and Kíli, separated to adjacent stalls, began whimpering to each other through the divider and eventually tried to kick the wood planks in.

The Orc gang swarmed back into the stables in response to the ruckus. The brothers had succeeded in splintering one of the broad boards between them, and the Orcs chittered angrily upon seeing it.

The whole bunch of Dwarves shouting at them and slapping the walls in protest, the Orcs surged into Fíli's stall first and pinned the blond princeling to the ground. They linked his collar to another long chain, this one being strung through manacles and ankle cuffs they locked him into. They then moved to the next stall and did the same to a wide-eyed, petrified Kíli.

When done, the leader of the grisly gang whipped a spare chain into the floor of the aisle with all his might, and the Dwarves, wary, quieted.

The Orcs leered at the other Dwarves as they left, the message implicit that this was a warning to the rest of them to behave like good little livestock.

The gate into the large stall at the back was shut. Behind it, unable to see what was going on, Boromir kept quiet. He'd been washed and fed earlier that morning and was beginning to feel more himself, but he did not consider himself ready to face whatever it was that created the riot beyond the relative safety of his pen.

The Dwarves, on the other hand, were in smaller stalls that faced opposite each other. Nori, Thorin, and Balin were on one side of the building, facing Fíli, Kíli, and Bofur on the other. Oin was closest to the main doors, next-door to Bofur, with no one directly across.

A short while later, more Orcs approached the stables. 

"Naw," one ranch-hand grunted to another, "let's not bother wif the two in the front. Juss take the young ones. Those first two ain't going nowhere even if we took their chains off. Doubt they'll even last the week."

"Right-o."

The pair strode directly to the middle of the aisle and looked appraisingly between Balin and Bofur, then took a couple steps further to peek at Thorin and Kíli.

"This one," the gruffer-sounding Orc said, pointing a club at Bofur.

Two more Orcs arrived and aided the first two in detaching Bofur's chain from the stone wall at the back of the stall. They ripped the blanket from his hands when he tried to cover himself, and hooked pikestaffs into the rings on his collar to lead the naked Dwarf out of the stables. Bofur shot a panicked glance at Thorin, but went silently. The stable doors shut after the entourage, leaving the remaining Dwarves squinting into semi darkness.

Somehow, the dark made whispering feel more appropriate again after all the shouting before.

Fíli spoke first. "Where do you suppose they're taking him?"

"Do you think they'll take all of us?" Kíli added.

Thorin tried to see them both through the shadows. "This is a step up from a hole in the ground. Whatever they're doing, I don't think it will be the end of us just yet. If these curs wanted to kill us, the pit would have been more convenient."

"Agreed," Balin chipped in and tugged his horse blankets tighter.

"And," Thorin reminded them, "one spoke of some of us not lasting the week. It sounds like they plan to keep us here some time."

"Ooh," Nori whined, starting to pace in his stall, "I don't like the sound of it. What if they've got some sort of torture planned, and they expect some of us to die from it?"

Oin piped up from the end, "Did someone--"

"NO," the others cut him off.

"... I don't even want to think about it," Nori finished.

Balin grunted, positioning himself for a nap in the straw, and muttered, "Then don't think about it. Nothing we can do right now."

Back in the large stall, Boromir heard the sage words and tried to drift off to sleep himself. He wasn't ready to make his presence known, but, perhaps, if these prison-mates proved trustworthy, escape could be on the horizon for all of them. 

Boromir closed his eyes and wondered who his companions were.

* * *

Bofur was escorted further into the fields behind the ranch master's house, to a mudbrick workshop close to a line of trees. Heavy black smoke belched out of a pair of small chimneys protruding askew from the half-crumbled roof.

The Orcs led him inside and wrangled him up onto a table fashioned as a rack of sorts by way of iron wrist and ankle clamps embedded in the wood. They locked these around Bofur's limbs before disengaging the pikestaff leads, trapping him flat on his back.

A dextrous Orc wearing a blacksmith's apron set his delicate tool-forging work aside and slunk to the table to inspect the Dwarf laid out for him. He ran one leathery finger from Bofur's Adam's apple down the centre of his chest, down his quivering belly, all the way to the thick thatch of hair below.

One of the handlers warned the smith, "See that you don't get carried away playin' wif 'em. Lurtz says he don' want no unsightly marks on these rats."

The smithy Orc answered with a raspy chuckle.

The handler Orc twirled one of Bofur's braids playfully before stepping outside with a cheery, "Give us a shout when yer ready for the next one!"

Bofur watched anxiously as the smithy puttered around the small, smoky workshop, gathering implements and arranging them within reach of the table.

Bofur cleared his throat and tried, "I don't suppose we could take some time to get to know each other better first? Or, y'know, I don't want to be any trouble - you could just let me go, I won't tell a soul."

The Orc turned to Bofur holding a cruel-looking set of callipers and reprised his unhealthy-sounding rasp of a chuckle.

Bofur heard a strangled noise of fear come from his own throat. He rambled a plea before he could stop himself, "Please, just go easy! Be gentle with me, I haven't got the stomach for the sort of thing you Orcs go in for! Oh... I feel kind of sick, come to mention it."

Ignoring the Dwarf's panicked blathering, the Orc (Hrorzbund, by name,) finished his preparations and started feeling up his naked captive. 

Bofur squeezed his eyes shut as he felt the Orc's rough hand rubbing and touching him in all sorts of unsavoury ways. Bofur's nipples were rolled, his round belly rubbed in forceful circles. Finally, the Orc's finger slid into Bofur's belly button. 

It wiggled inside him like a worm writhing on a hook, poking this way and that. Bofur twisted his hips, squirming as much as he could manage while locked to the table, trying to dislodge the probing finger. But, being a bit bigger in the tummy than he might care to admit, Bofur had no hopes of knocking it free. His navel was too deep, the Orc's finger sunken in up to the second knuckle.

The Orc played with Bofur's belly button for what seemed ages, apparently delighting in the Dwarf's reactions, until, between the constant stimulation and the heat from the furnace in the corner, Bofur's erection began to perk up.

Leering, the Orc withdrew his finger and picked up a thin metal rod from the assortment on his tool bench. 

The rod slid into Bofur's navel. When it hit bottom, Bofur's curiosity got the better of him and he opened his eyes to watch. He saw the Orc twirling the rod and angling it around, feeling the corresponding twinges of frustrating almost-pleasure inside his belly.

The Orc-smith gradually moved on to slightly larger and larger rods, until he reached a size that barely fit inside Bofur's navel. The Orc worked it in slowly at first, until it sank in as far as it would go. Then, to Bofur's great surprise and mortifying arousal, the Orc began to rapidly fuck Bofur's belly button with the rod.

It didn't end until Bofur was breathless and limp, sweaty and sticky. He felt the rod pull out and heard it clatter on the bench.

Then, he felt the callipers pull at the rim of his navel. Before he knew what hit him, he heard a mechanical _snap_ and felt a sharp pain above the callipers. 

He was barely coherent when the gang of handlers were called back for him. He stumbled along to the stables, ready to pass out the moment he was returned to his nice, clean straw.

* * *

Before the stable doors opened, the Dwarves inside heard the tinny tinkle of a little bell.

A sedate-looking Bofur was led in and chained into his stall. While the Orcs fumbled with unhooking the pikestaffs, the Dwarves got a good, long look at where the annoying tinkle-ting was coming from.

From a small piercing in the upper rim of Bofur's navel hung a tiny, golden bell. It nestled perfectly in the dip of his belly button and sounded with his every move.

"What in the world!" Nori spat. "What did you do to him?!"

The Orcs filed out of Bofur's stall and shut the gate. Bofur could be seen through the slats, gratefully slumping to the floor and weakly tugging the horse blanket over himself.

"Oh, that?" one of the Orcs teased. "You little cows are gettin' little bells. Lets us know where you is at all times, see. S'harder for you to pull off this way than if we done put bells around your necks!"

Laughing and jeering, the gang of handlers swarmed into Thorin's stall next.

* * *

Thorin, clamped to the table, watched helplessly as the miniature metal piercing bar was fused into one solid piece with the careful application of a heated instrument. The bell sitting in Thorin's navel mocked him cheerily as the Orc completed his work, making the addition permanent.

* * *

Fíli was the last to be belled and walked back in, straw still sticking out of his hair from his scuffle with the Orcs that morning. 

The stable was filled with the intermittent jingling of five tiny bells.

"Why not just kill us," Kíli moaned, crouched covering his ears.

"It aches something awful," Nori groused too, poking gingerly at his stomach.

"Stop touching it," Fíli snapped at him.

"If we ever get out of here," Balin cracked wearily, "the lot of you can start a belly dancing troupe."

Thorin, brooding inside his horse blanket, muttered, "If we get out of here, we're heading straight for the nearest blacksmith and having these godforesaken things removed."

"Really?" Bofur mumbled deliriously, half asleep, "'cause I know this wonderful blacksmith just up the hill who--"

"Shut up," Nori spat.

"You know," Oin said optimistically, "I could swear I hear a sparrow singing in the rafters!"

"Go to sleep," Balin told Oin loudly enough to be understood. To the rest, he said, "If nobody bloody moves, we'll have peace and quiet." He fluffed up the straw beneath his head and tried to get comfortable.

For the next few hours, the Dwarves brooded as silently as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As of March 2016, I've only got a couple paragraphs past this written. Since my writing PC is still dead, it may be a while before I resume this story. But it's definitely not abandoned, I promise.


	3. INTERLUDE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright, now for some proper Christmassy shit.

1  
 _Hark, how the bells  
Small golden bells  
Constantly ring  
With Dwarves fleeing_

_One tends to fear  
Lurtz's fierce sneer  
Dwarven despair  
Filling the air_

_Hark, how the bells  
Bellybutton bells  
Constantly ring  
With Dwarves fleeing..._

* * *

2  
 _Dashing 'cross the ranch  
Each naked as a buck  
Are ev'ry single Dwarf  
That Boromir has fucked_

_They find their Dwarven kin  
And free them from the pit  
Knock out a slew of Orcs  
And throw them all in it_

_The mayhem's off the scale  
It's truly Dwarves Gone Wild  
The sights this massacre entails  
Makes Orc orgies look mild_

_Ohhhh, jingle bells, jingle bells  
The herd at last is free  
How deep the trouble Hrorzbund's in   
When they reach his smithy!_

* * *

3  
 _Hurrah for escape, Boromir  
Let nothing you dismay  
For you'll soon see Ecthelion's tow'r gleam by the light of day  
And all your time spent Dwarf sexing will slowly fall away_

_O-oh, tidings of Gondor's greatest joy  
Go-ondor's joy  
Oh, ti-idings of Gondor's greatest joy_

* * *

4  
 _Have yourself a merry little Christmas  
While the Dwarves take flight  
Pretty soon their tushies will be out of sight..._

Pbthpt. I've songed myself out for now.

May your Yuletide be very, very gay.

_And have yourself... a merry little Christmas... nowwwwwww...._

Oin: There are cows???


End file.
